


Rose Red

by esme_green



Series: Rose Red [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esme_green/pseuds/esme_green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from izzyfics: <i>We've seen pining!McCoy, but how about some pining!Chapel--she's always watching McCoy and never acting because she doesn't think he's interested until one day all is revealed</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose Red

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 **[mccoy_chapel](http://mccoy-chapel.livejournal.com/)** Holiday Exchange. I used the original birth years for Chapel and McCoy, which makes them 20 and 30 respectively at the start of the AOS. Also, if I were Karl Urban, I'd definitely be lobbying for a ships-that-pass-in-the-night scene with a hot Trill Olympic gymnast like Emony. Tonia Barrows is boring, yo.

* * *

The only way she was going to make it through this was to frown.

Christine Chapel had studied the basic theories of associative learning when she was still in elementary school, and could parse the situation as if by rote:

The unconditioned stimulus was Cadet McCoy walking into any room where she was.

The unconditioned response was her heart leaping in her chest, followed by a deep hot blush.

It was embarrassing, is what it was. She'd expected silly love-at-first-sight crushes to happen when she was twelve, not twenty. But somehow, some primal node of her brain had been triggered, and now every time she caught even a quick glance of him, she acted like a fool.

Totally embarrassing.

* * *

It was bad enough the first day she ever laid eyes on Leonard McCoy. He strode out of the Academy Medical building, cursing, she remembers, and almost ran her over.

Only quick footwork on both their parts had prevented a collision. And he'd kept going, with only the briefest glance and a grunt which might be construed as an apology, leaving Chapel in his wake with a thunderbolt in her chest.

Three seconds and a mere flash of hazel eyes was all it took.

* * *

Christine wasn't an awkward, gangly, shy teenager anymore. All right, perhaps still gangly, and only just past teenage, but definitely willing to make enquiries and then possibly a move.

Basic intelligence gathering was also a course at which she excelled, and she put theory into practice. She talked to her friends and colleagues, looking for connections. Sought out the gossip mill on campus. Perhaps went out of her way once or twice to observe and assess.

Unfortunately, the results of her preliminary surveillance were not promising. Doctor Tall, Dark, and Handsome kept to himself, and was only seen out socially in the company of Jim Kirk.

*Only* with Jim Kirk. One might even say *exclusively* with Jim Kirk.

Damn.

So he had excellent taste in male lovers, given Kirk's nearly legendary reputation. Even in the unlikely event his orientation did stretch to females, she could never compete with Jim Kirk.

She tried to console herself with the rest of the data she'd gleaned. He was at least ten years older than her, for a start. After dating her thesis advisor for three months, she'd kind of sworn off older men. He was divorced, which also didn't speak well to his ability to hold together a relationship. A genius in humanoid neurosurgery, but an irritable dictator during his Academy clinic shifts.

He would have been a bad bet, even if he had been interested in women.

None of this really helped. Her embarrassing reaction to him wouldn't go away, regardless of the data.

Which was why she'd resorted to associative learning techniques. Each time she saw him, she focused on contracting the muscles in her forehead. And biting down, so her back molars met and her jaw tightened.

It was a faintly unpleasant sensation which gave her a tiny jolt of adrenaline, the kind of jolt usually funneled into irritation or anger when a normal person was frowning.

She was rapidly leaving normal behind.

A glance from him.

Heart palpitation from her.

Frown. Grit teeth.

Doing that just about left her some composure if he actually came over and talked to her.

Glance.

Heart palpitation.

Frown.

She was going to shape her behaviour to appropriate standards if it killed her.

* * *

And then Gaila got back. Christine hadn't seen her in a few months, and it was impossible to hide her reaction from an Orion when Leonard McCoy walked into the bar just outside the Academy campus.

Christine frowned anyway.

Gaila glanced over and just shook her head. "You humans," she said.

"He's with Jim Kirk," said Christine.

"Good choice."

"Yes it is," said Christine. "No known female associates."

The Orion shrugged and turned her back on the rapidly filling room. "I'd rather talk about you," she said.

Christine downed the rest of her first drink.

"Face it, Christine," said Gaila, a few drinks later. "You have a thing for the old ones."

"He's not that old!" Christine protested.

"Not as old as Doctor Korby, who was literally twice your age," the green girl straightened her back, assuming her lecturing pose, "but I believe ten Earth years for someone as young as you is still a substantial age difference for humans, correct?"

"It's not that bad," Christine muttered, angling herself so that she could surreptitiously spy on the bar using one of the many mirrors on the wall. "It's not like it's Captain Pike or something."

"Now he would be a more logical choice of mate, despite the larger age difference. He is competent—"

"Roger was competent! And so is—" It felt wrong to call him Leonard. Everyone else called him McCoy or Doctor and that somehow seemed to fit him better.

"But Captain Pike has proved his physical prowess in battle also. His strength and agility combined with his decades of experience would make him an excellent lover."

"Keep it down!" Christine hissed. "What if someone hears?"

"Then hopefully someone would tell Captain Pike," said her friend reasonably. "And perhaps he would ask who said it, and then he would know who I am…"

"And you could have sex with him."

"Of course."

Christine flagged down the server bot and ordered another round.

And then it happened. It was very clear to anyone who happened to be watching, even if they were surreptitiously peeking at a reflection in a bar mirror.

Jim Kirk swaggered over to McCoy, ushering a tiny female humanoid. The elegant lines of spots trailing down her back identified her as a Trill.

McCoy took one look at her and his face unfolded into a smile. Suddenly he was happier, than Christine had ever seen. The transformation was amazing.

The little Trill shrieked and jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

And he laughed.

Kirk said something smug—Christine could tell that by the self-satisfied look on his face—and stepped away.

And then McCoy kissed the Trill girl hard, and Christine felt like she had been punched in the gut.

She doubled over.

This was so much worse than she'd ever thought it could be.

Gaila was at her side in a second, and didn't bother to ask what was wrong. "Oh, Christine," she said. "I'm so sorry."

She forced herself to straighten up—it wouldn't do to look like she had a medical condition right now—and caught sight of McCoy in the mirror again. Still locked in an embrace with the Trill, and now backing out of the bar with her twined around him.

Christine shut her eyes and counted to twenty, hoping that when she opened them, the deliriously happy couple wouldn't be there any longer. "It's silly," she muttered.

"It's not silly," Gaila said sympathetically. "It's just human."

"You're right," Christine said after a moment, eyes still shut. "I'd give anything to be Orion right now."

"Well, if Captain Pike walks into the bar tonight, we can share him."

Christine choked out a laugh. "That would definitely take my mind off things."

"Or even Jim Kirk. He's a young, strong human. We could definitely share him."

"Oh god, not Kirk." Christine shut her eyes again.

"Not me what?" came a male voice behind her.

In front of her, Gaila was grinning. Apparently her bad night wasn't over yet.

* * *

"You know he likes women, so what's the problem?" Gaila asked a few weeks later, still apparently determined to see Christine paired off.

Or at least to stop me whining, Christine thought. "It's not that simple," she said out loud.

"And he's not seeing anyone right now," Gaila continued, though her tone implied that she was making concession to a silly human scruple.

"He asked for me in surgery ten days ago. And several times since."

"So he likes you!"

"No, he's a perfectionist. He likes my work. And he's brilliant," she finished glumly.

"What now?" Gaila rolled her eyes.

"I'm learning a lot. And getting better. He *makes* me better just by insisting on the extra level of care and precision in his work and mine."

"And you humans don't mix work and sex well," Gaila finished, now glum too, but probably because of her own experiences attempting to assimilate on Earth rather than Christine's.

"Some do. I don't. And he wasn't trained at Starfleet. His experience...it would be hard for me to get that anywhere else."

"Well I still think it's a mistake," Gaila said. "Your reaction is too strong." She tapped her nose. "You should definitely have sex with him before anything else."

"You're right," Christine said, though they both knew that her admitting that wouldn't change anything.

* * *

But then came the Narada, and the destruction of Vulcan, and the least important side effect of the horrific tragedy was that her inconvenient infatuation faded into the background.

* * *

It was a shock, then, after all that they'd been through, to find herself blushing when she saw him sitting next to Jim Kirk in Admiral Pike's office, clean-shaven, rested, and almost smiling, a far cry from the fatigued, grimy, somber man he'd been during the Narada crisis.

She scowled. It was almost instinct at this point.

She caught his surprise at her expression, and attempted to smooth her brow as she faced Admiral Pike to find out why he had summoned her.

Pike didn't keep her waiting. "Lieutenant Chapel. Having conferred with Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Commander McCoy, it is my pleasure to offer you the position of Head Nurse on the Enterprise."

Her eyes widened in shock. This was almost unheard of in terms of precedent. Four years of nursing aside, she was still just twenty years old and had only the Narada under her belt for combat experience.

Pike explained what she already knew, but hadn't really thought about—the Battle of Vulcan had cost Starfleet many good, experienced medical personnel, and so the kind of promotion that would normally have been years away was, of necessity, being extended earlier.

She nodded solemnly, trying not to think about that too closely so as to not bawl in front of an admiral.

"And," Admiral Pike concluded, "You came highly recommended, not just by your Academy instructors but by your commanding officer in the field." He gestured at McCoy, and she reddened, frowned, and turned to him.

"Doctor," she said.

"Lieutenant," he replied evenly, studying her face.

"You're green, Lieutenant, there's no doubt about that," Pike said frankly, and she wasn't about to disagree as she turned back to face him. "But Doctor McCoy, having practised medicine for some years before joining Starfleet, has the experience needed to mentor you in his position as Chief Medical Officer. Just as you can give him the benefit of your training with Starfleet Medical."

"Understood, Admiral," she said, creasing her brow more deeply to cover her deepening blush.

Kirk came to stand beside the Admiral's chair. "Lieutenant Chapel, will you accept this commission?"

She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and pushed all her silly, juvenile emotions away. "Yes, Captain," she said formally. "I would be pleased to serve with you."

Kirk grinned easily, and she couldn't help but smile back. That was part of his charm. And, of course, the impossible had happened because she was going to be Head Nurse on Starfleet's flagship. Giddiness was suddenly threatening to overwhelm her.

Drawing in a deep breath, she faced the Admiral, her smile fading. "Thank you, sir." The words came easily now. "I appreciate the faith Starfleet has in me and will do my utmost to live up to the honour and duties of this position."

"I know you will, Lieutenant," he replied.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"You will receive your orders shortly," he told her. "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Standing at attention, she nodded to both Kirk and Pike and got the hell out of there.

Outside, she fairly ran down the building's steps, heading for the sunny lawns in the common, wanting to skip and shout for joy and trying to remind herself that normal people didn't do that kind of thing alone. She needed to find Gaila, and her roommate, and maybe some of the other non-nursing students she knew so that she could crow as loud as she wanted without—

"Lieutenant!" came a male voice behind her. She stopped and turned, saw McCoy heading towards her, and blushed.

And frowned.

"Doctor McCoy," she said, realizing she'd almost completely ignored him in Pike's office after the initial shock of seeing him there. "I'm sorry, I should have--"

"Do we have a problem, Chapel?"

"Sir?"

"I get the feeling you don't like me," he said tersely.

She gritted her teeth, frowning harder to stave off the fact her first instinct was still, after all these months, to jump him. To reach up, grab his head, and stick her tongue...

"That's not true," she said. "I en—enjoy working with you."

"We're going to be trapped together on a ship for a long time, Chapel. If you have a problem with me, I need to know now."

"I don't."

"I recommended you because you're good. Damn good. And you keep your head under pressure. But I won't work with anyone with a chip on their shoulder, so if you can't lock down the attitude I'll go back to Pike and get your orders revoked so fast your head spins."

Well, that little speech made him less attractive.

"You're not exactly a walk in the park yourself, Doctor," she told him.

"I—" McCoy shut his mouth. "Fine."

"I don't have a problem working with you, Doctor McCoy." She straightened her back and looked him in the eye. "I'm very grateful for the recommendation and will ensure your faith in me is never misplaced. I apologize for not expressing my appreciation immediately in Admiral Pike's office. I'm very much looking forward to this assignment."

He eyed her for several seconds, then said. "All right."

"Is there anything else?" she asked, focusing her gaze on him.

"No, Lieutenant." He paused. "Orders notwithstanding, I recommend making time in the next day or two to head up to the Enterprise. I'm reviewing the facilities and inventory and would appreciate input from my Head Nurse."

"Yes, Doctor." She reviewed her timetable in her head, weighing it against the likely hangover from the party she was going to throw herself tonight. "Would ten o'clock tomorrow be acceptable?"

"Perfect," he said. "You were our last department head appointment, so Jim's probably going to drag me out to celebrate." He paused. "I mean, Captain Kirk."

"We'll all need some time to adjust to that, sir," she said, venturing a small smile.

He grinned back.

Nodding smartly to cover her flushed cheeks, she said, "Ten o'clock tomorrow then, Doctor."

"Lieutenant."

This time she waited until he walked away.

* * *

Given the embarrassingly involuntary nature of her physical reaction to her new commanding officer, it was a relief to realize that her enthusiasm for her new assignment cancelled it out.

Mostly.

She still blushed when he surprised her—coming around the corner at an unexpected moment, or walking up behind her unnoticed—but if it happened she frowned and focused on the task at hand, and for the most part the problem faded into the background as a minor inconvenience.

Besides, the position of Head Nurse was more than enough to engross her. She threw herself into the role, reviewing every Starfleet text she'd ever read to make sure Sickbay ran by the book—and consulted McCoy for what he called "basic common sense" preparations beyond that. She worked with her team of nurses until they functioned like a well-oiled machine. McCoy was often off-ship on away missions with the Captain and First Officer, so it fell to her to ensure the smooth day-to-day running of Sickbay.

And then came her first away mission. It was a routine medical relief mission—inasmuch as the Enterprise's missions were ever routine—and McCoy was distracted tending to the Captain's latest allergic reaction, so when Christine said, "I'll go," at an appropriate break in the conversation, he just grunted, "Fine."

Christine joined two medics and a security team on the transporter platform and prepared to beam down to a Class L desert planet with an overtaxed Starfleet hospital.

A wall of sound and wave of heat overtook her as she materialized, and she staggered. Wind whipped past her, tearing at her hair and clothes. Beside her the other nurses had lost their balance too, and she shrugged off the hands of the security team trying to help her stand.

"Let's get moving," she yelled over the howl of the storm and forged toward the nearest building.

There was no wind inside, but the heat pressed like a brick to the forehead because of a broken air circulation unit, confounded by a fine layer of sand like talcum permeating everywhere, and the roar of the storm was unceasing.

Two days later, when she finally stumbled off the transporter platform, covered in sweat and grime, McCoy was there to catch her.

She didn't even blush. At the very back of her brain, past the mind-numbing fatigue, she noted idly that she was finally cured. The work was so much more important than anything else.

McCoy didn't let her off the ship for a while after that, but eventually he relented. There were vaccinations to administer to small urban centres, supplies to deliver to far-flung outposts, emergencies and tragedies of every description where the Enterprise arrowed in and did its best to save lives.

Christine risked infection, cross-infection, blades, bullets, lasers, phasers, a small radioactive explosive device, and innumerable alien pollens, seeds, and sundry airborne particulates with effects from the sublime to the ridiculous. McCoy was almost always there with her, by her side, giving orders and even taking them in the heat of a crisis, working so hard that he left nothing behind for himself, inspiring those around him to do the same. Sometimes she could barely stand as the transporter whisked them back to the ship.

* * *

And then the Pentharan distress call came.

Within forty-eight hours, plague had literally decimated the population and the few thousand people that remained on the planet were being evacuated. The most remote settlement was unreachable except via transporter, and the Enterprise medical team was ordered to go in to assess and report.

Doctor Modinone, the settlement's only medic, met Chapel and McCoy at the beam-in site.

"You can't evacuate us," the woman told them bluntly. "We're still infectious and I can't contain it. I tried to tell—"

"We've heard that from every doctor on the planet." McCoy cut her off. "We have precautions in place. Besides, you're not infected."

Doctor Modinone bowed her head for a moment, her blonde hair falling forward, before straightening and fixing them with an even gaze. "I am. Not two hours ago I tested positive. I'm not infectious yet, but I estimate I will become so in the next four to six hours. Based on my observations, I only have about eighteen hours left."

McCoy swore and Chapel blanched.

"We still need to see," he said after a moment. "We have to evacuate as many as possible and administer care where we can. Lieutenant?"

Chapel pulled the hypospray out of her kit and handed it to him, then began unpacking the thin but sturdy isolation suits.

"We have this broad-spectrum serum with us," McCoy was saying as he administered it to the doctor. "We'll hope we caught it in time to boost your immune system."

Chapel handed him his isolation suit and slipped hers on over her uniform.

"Lead the way, Doctor," he said as Chapel sealed his helmet and he sealed hers.

The small ranching settlement was deserted as they walked through the streets. When they reached the largest building's door, Doctor Modinone preceded them inside.

Christine felt like an alien walking down the aisles between the beds, her cool blue isolation suit cutting her off from the air and the smell and the feel of the illness around her. It was harder to offer comfort when she couldn't touch the patients.

Briskly she got to work, cataloguing and categorizing, finding the few healthy colonists in the outer rooms, testing them, and arranging for them to be safely beamed out.

McCoy's shout roused her from the next room.

"Doctor?" She ran in and found him cradling the collapsed body of Doctor Modinone.

"Resuscitator," he barked. "I think she's having a delayed reaction to the serum."

Chapel found her kit and brought it over, fitting the resuscitator mask over Modinone's mouth and nose.

"It's not working!" he snapped after a moment.

The equipment was operating normally, but Modinone hitched a breath, choked, and started to turn blue.

They bent over the fallen woman to try and get her breathing again. Nothing worked. The isolation suit, despite being perfectly calibrated for touch sensitivity, still made the wearer feel helpless in the face of emergencies. As if being able to actually touch and smell and feel would make any difference at all.

Christine grabbed the resuscitator and attempted to recalibrate it, a faint chance at best, but anything at all...

"Damn it!" McCoy cursed, tearing at his helmet lock.

"Doctor, no!" Chapel made a grab for his hands, but she was too late.

He'd wrenched off his helmet, bent over Modinone, and sealed his lips to hers.

Nothing.

"Doctor!" Chapel repeated.

He glanced up briefly, grim determination in his eyes, before bending over the prostrate woman again, covering her mouth with his.

"Leonard..." Christine's breath left almost like a soft sob, but if he heard, he didn't give any sign.

And then Modinone choked again, and started to breathe, and Chapel stood up and walked away without a word.

"She wasn't infectious," McCoy said two hours later as they headed back to the beam-out site, having done everything they could for the colonists.

Christine didn't reply. She hadn't spoken to him beyond one-word answers since it happened.

"It was the right thing to do, damn it."

She kept walking.

"When treated early enough, the patient has a much improved chance of recovery. We treated her."

Christine opened her communicator. "Please arrange for full quarantine of Doctor McCoy. He has been exposed to the plague agent and may be infected."

"I don't need a quarantine, damn it."

Spock's voice came back to her. "Please detail the nature of the exposure."

"Doctor McCoy came into close physical contact with an infected patient while not wearing his isolation suit. Possibility of cross-infection via fluid transfer."

"She wasn't infectious," McCoy snapped.

There was a pause. "Seducing the patients, Bones?" came faintly from the background, and then Spock's voice much clearer.

"Under the circumstances, quarantine is advisable. We will beam Doctor McCoy directly to an isolation chamber now."

"Damn it, I—" But the transporter beam took him away before she could hear the rest.

"Lieutenant, prepare for transport," came the voice of the transporter chief, and then she was back on the Enterprise, exhausted and with no one to lean on at all as she made her way back to Sickbay.

* * *

A shower and change of clothing made Christine feel more presentable. She couldn't rest, because every time she closed her eyes she saw Leonard McCoy's face as he'd torn off his isolation helmet.

She channeled that unnamed emotion into anger, and consequently was still furious when he stalked into Sickbay a few hours later looking as murderous as she felt.

"I'm not infected, damn it," he said by way of greeting.

Christine set her inventory padd down carefully and turned to him. "That's good news," she said.

"The risk was minimal, and you know it." He scowled. "No reason to imprison me in a windowless room and make some damn robot rub decontamination gel all over me."

"You deliberately ignored protocol during one of the most virulent, deadly plagues that infect humanoid species." She kept her voice low, but didn't bother hiding her anger. "You're damn right I was going to quarantine you."

"Listen, Christine—" he began.

It was the condescension that snapped her temper completely. "Don't you 'Listen, Christine' me. One of us had to keep a clear head," she said, her voice starting to rise.

"I was saving a woman's life!"

"You completely abandoned our mission—"

"That's what medicine is—"

"—and your duty to the rest of the patients in that room—"

"—It's more than your damn Starfleet rules and regulations and standard procedures—"

"—not to mention your responsibilities to the ship and its crew!"

"—it's reaching out to a person in distress. It's—"

"You think I don't care about people?" Christine was nearly shouting now. "You know how I felt when I saw you take off that damn helmet?"

"Chapel—"

"How could you do that? How could you leave me...leave the Enterprise," she corrected herself as his eyes widened in surprise, "without a second thought? Without thinking what...what..."

"Chapel!" he thundered, silencing her.

She realized how loud she'd gotten and blushed. And frowned.

His eyes narrowed and he studied her for several seconds while her face got redder and redder.

Glancing around at the two or three staff still in Sickbay, all of whom were pretending to be deaf, he said, "Not here. With me, Lieutenant," and walked out the door.

Christine followed him into the turbolift, still frowning. She had a lot more to say, but he was right, they shouldn't be in public when she did.

He led the way silently after the turbolift stopped. It was only when she followed him through an unfamiliar door that she realized.

"These are your quarters," she said, feeling her cheeks heat again.

"How long?" he asked her.

"What?"

"How long has this," he reached out and touched the side of her face, "been happening?"

Her breath caught. "I don't know what you mean," she hedged.

"Yes, you do. You do it all the time. I thought you—" He broke off. "Tell me. You have to say it."

Her frown deepened. "Doctor McCoy. I apologize if I embarrassed you in front of the Captain or Commander Spock. I could have been more discreet in my—"

"If you were any more discreet—" McCoy interrupted her. "Damn it, you're going to make me do this, aren't you?"

"Doctor?" she asked, suddenly feeling light-headed.

"You said my name," he said softly. "Right after—you didn't think I heard it, but I did. Do you remember?"

She did. She wasn't about to forget it. The determination in his eyes when he looked up at her, knowing full well what he was doing, what might happen... "Leonard," she whispered.

"Yes." His eyes darkened. "Say it again."

She did.

His arms locked around her, lifting her up against his body, and it took a moment to realize he was kissing her.

Kissing her hard.

He pulled away. "Damn it, girl, kiss me back."

She did. Clamped her hands around his head to keep him in place. It took him by surprise, she could tell.

And after the first taste she couldn't stop, not if she'd wanted to. When she broke for air she planted small clumsy kisses all around his mouth and then captured his lips again, felt his arms band tighter around her, and let everything spill out, held nothing back.

He pulled away to mumble something that sounded like "Easy, girl", but it was too late for easy or gentle or slow. Far too late. She sank her fingers farther into his hair, keeping him where she wanted him, and felt him huff in response and hitch her higher.

There was purchase for her knees, she realized eventually. He'd carried her to the bed and sat down with his back against the headboard, so that she straddled him. Letting go of his head, her hands swarmed over his body, touching, stroking, clutching, not able to stop and not wanting to, locking onto his lips with hers to quell his murmured requests to go easy, go slower.

She couldn't hold back and the way his hands and mouth battled with hers told her she was fine to keep going, to take everything she needed to...oh. OH.

She stopped with a squeak.

"Had to get your attention somehow," he said apologetic and breathless at the same time. His mouth turned upward in a boyish smile.

Christine was speechless, and the way his blunt fingertips were stroking inside of her, she didn't think she'd be talking anytime soon.

Another finger pad brushed against her clit and she squeaked again.

"Didn't want this to be over too quick," he said. "Want to take my time with you."

Right, she told herself. Get some perspective. This is a one-time thing for him; he hasn't been stupid with lust and love for over a year. She sucked in a deep breath, and another, trying to regain her composure, or at least as much as was possible when a talented man had his hand up her skirt. "Sorry," she said, her face breaking into a self-conscious grin.

"No," he said. "That—whatever that is, don't do it. Look at me." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He paused. "Blush for me again."

Well, it wasn't like she could help it, really.

He pulled back, his free hand cupping her face, smoothing the creases on her brow with his thumb, stroking her skin over and over. "How long?"

She leaned into his touch.

"You don't have to tell me," he said. "But..." Apparently words failed him, because the hand that was more intimately involved began to move and a tiny moan escaped her.

She tried to focus, tried to think of something to say to answer his question without sounding like a lovesick idiot, like a—

"Hey," he said, tightening his hand on her cheek. "I told you, don't do that. This is just us, here. And I'm not—the way you looked at me just now...I…"

She nodded, and leaned in to kiss him.

His drawl roughened his voice as he pulled away. "You been tyin' yourself in knots over me?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered. Hesitated. Then, "For a while."

"Oh, honey," he groaned. "I'm not sure why you'd do that, but let me try and make it up to you."

He grinned, and she grinned back and kissed him.

And then he rolled her down under him on the bed and made her blush some more.

 

END

 

**Author's Note:**

> Second part is an outtake from McCoy's POV which I couldn't bring myself to delete even though it didn't end up working with the story.


End file.
